This is the path he used to take,
That ended at a rose-porched door:
He takes it now for oldtime's sake;
And love of yore.
The blue mertensia, by the stone,
Lifts questioning eyes, that seem to say,
'Why is it now you walk alone
On this dim way?"
And then a wild bird, from a bough,
Out of his heart the answer takes:
"He walks alone with memory now
And heart that breaks.
"And Loss and Longing, witches, who
Usurp the wood and change to woe
The dream of happiness he knew
Long, long ago.
"The faery princess, from whose gaze
The blue mertensia learned that look,
Retaining still beside these ways
The joy it took."
He listens, conscious of no part
In wildwood question and reply
The wood, from out its mighty heart,
Heaves one deep sigh.